


Wayward Son

by evanlinge



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Background Slash, Disjointed Imagery, Gen, Injury, Other, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanlinge/pseuds/evanlinge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaus' blood burns in Damon's veins. -Spoilers for S04E23-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wayward Son

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: TVD does not belong to me.

 

There is a voice thundering against the edges of his senses, deep and angry and Damon drifts through the haze of werewolf venom for the second time in his too-long life. Another, softer but no less urgent voice replies, tinny and distorted in the way Damon has come to associate with phones and electric currents. The second voice is unmistakably Stefan’s, so Damon ignores it, and the way Alaric snarls about the Cure.

 

His head pounds in time with the roaring water, and he has never wanted the Cure less in his entire undead life. Here, in this dark, cool space in Damon’s mind that sparks with death and the Veil, there is nothing even remotely human. Alaric’s ghost-presence brushes against his thoughts, and Stefan’s tension is nearly palpable through the phone. His veins burn hot like someone has injected vervain straight into his system.

 

Now, just like this, Damon can imagine dying, drowning in the poison with Alaric’s too-close presence and Stefan’s voice in the air. He might spare a thought for Elena, if he remembered –an image of dark eyes and _Katherine_ –

 

Damon knows now that he will die before he allows himself to become human once more. _“I’m not human, and I miss it more than anything else in the world.”_ He’d once said.

 

It wasn’t entirely true. Even now he can hardly think of a more miserable existence than returning to some fragile, fleshy cage in which to live out the rest of his days. Damon does not want the Cure for Elena – wouldn't inflict it on her; not unless she forced it down her own throat. He thinks of Rebecca; what must it be like,to be so powerful a creature, a true Original, and fight to give it up for _humanity._ It strikes Damon as distasteful irony.

 

* * *

 

 

Alaric is beside him again, or perhaps it is Stefan. Whoever it is is close, too-close really, and Damon thinks it funny, hilarious even, how many times this game has been played out over the decades. The Damsel, the Dragon, the Knight and the Saviour.

 

His thoughts are slipping again and he isn’t sure who has taken which roles this time around. He thinks he might be the dark Damsel, a _bête-noire_ , perhaps. It would make Alaric his white Knight this time. _But Alaric is dead_ , he knows, _so perhaps Stefan is his Knight this time also._

 

There’s a large, calloused hand on his face, and now he’s certain it’s Alaric.

 

“-awake, Damon-” someone is saying, voice strained and warm, but Damon hardly cares. His Prince will kill him surely, but maybe that is a different fairytale. He thinks.

 

* * *

 

 

Damon senses it then, through the fog of venom and blood, the presence just beyond Stefan’s. _Saviour_.

 

 _Klaus_. The sensible part of his mind reprimands. Klaus is no white Knight, and certainly no saviour; but he is the Saviour in Damon’s fairytale, so he drinks in the Original’s presence like it is the only thing that matters. The waterfall sounds distant, miles away.

 

A hand curls beneath his shoulder, not quite so large as Alaric’s but larger than Damon’s; Klaus’ voice is electric, the scent of his too-rich blood clouding Damon’s senses.

 

“-an addiction, Sweetheart,” Klaus is saying. Damon doesn’t have the slightest idea what he means. Klaus draws him close, a perverse mimicry of a lover’s embrace, until Damon’s head rests on his shoulder.

 

 

“-Caroline and Stefan-” “-upset-” The words are disjointed, but Damon understands the basic principle. The scent of Klaus’ blood is stronger then, and he senses Alaric step away from them. The pressure of Klaus’ torn wrist to Damon’s lips is less gentle and more intimate than Damon would have expected. It's uncomfortable – Damon wants to move, press closer to Klaus and tear himself away at once – but Klaus is his Saviour, so Damon supposes that it is all right. The blood is overpowering, straight from the vein, and Damon thinks he can taste the surge of emotion along with it. _Sire_ , perhaps, rather than Saviour. He tastes Klaus’s satisfaction at Damon’s acceptance. His _acknowledgement_.

 

“I will _never_ be human,” Damon whispers deliriously against Klaus’ healing wrist. It tastes like triumph when Damon presses his mouth to Klaus’ fingers.  Klaus _’_ blood burns his veins.

 

 

 

 


End file.
